


Betrothal

by Lovedmoviesb



Series: The Rookie and Her Captain [12]
Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Blame this on Bridgerton, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28458159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovedmoviesb/pseuds/Lovedmoviesb
Summary: Inspired by Netflix’s Bridgerton. Ginny and Mike scandalize a town.
Relationships: Ginny Baker/Mike Lawson
Series: The Rookie and Her Captain [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1471262
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	Betrothal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msdoomandgloom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msdoomandgloom/gifts).



“We are to be married!”

The proclamation came forth with blood and spittle, sprayed with indignant venom from between two split lips. 

Michael Lawson stepped back, his face creasing with further disgust. His knuckles smarted, the skin worn raw on the Duke’s jagged front teeth. He raised them again. There was a bittersweet sort of satisfaction from the look of fear that rushed across the Duke’s face. 

“You are to be  _ buried  _ if you so much as look in her direction again.”

The Duke found whatever meager courage he possessed, straightening up on unsteady feet. 

“So this is what it is then? I should have known. For all the bluster of her virtue, it is only too obvious who has plucked that rose.”

Michael seized him by the collar, jerking him clean from his feet.

“You dare besmirch her name?” His vision was crimson with rage. “You, who are not even fit to utter it?”

“But she deemed you worthy, did she not?” The Duke pressed on, drunk and reckless. “Worthy of whatever lurks beneath her skirts.”

The last syllable was lost in a grunt of pain as Michael’s fist found a home in the Duke’s guts. It turned quickly into a wheezing laugh. 

“All of this for naught,” the Duke of Casey taunted, offering his bloodstained smile. “Perhaps I shall be able to salvage what remains of her reputation. For a large dowry, of course.”

“You will not—“

The laugh sounded once more. “There is nothing that can be done Lord Lawson. For all your chivalry, you lack one thing. A title.”

Michael’s fist erased the smug expression in a swift hit. The Duke of Casey collapsed to the gravel in all his splendor. Michael stepped over his crumpled form on long strides, rushing for the estate. 

He found her in the gardens, the reluctant center of attention. He paused to observe her. To the town, Missy Geneviere of House Baker was a daisy in the spring of life. Every gentleman in his right mind sought to court her. Besides her tremendous beauty, she came with considerable advancements in this world. To join with her mighty family—well, it was a thing that many could only dream of. 

She smiled prettily, fanning herself with a delicate device of lace and ribbon. Her curls were pinned and styled into the year’s most elaborate fashion. Her ivory gown shimmered in the light from the patio lanterns. She looked every inch the diamond they all proclaimed her to be. With all of the shine, it was no surprise that the rabble around her did not notice how forced her joviality truly was. 

She spotted him, her trick, her dark eyes finding his from yards away. Michael dipped his chin, sure she saw the gesture. Without pause, he began his steps again, following a well-trod path. 

The library was silent, secluded as always. It was she who had brought him here many months ago. Between the dusty shelves she’d stepped forward, pressing her lips so sweetly to his. He’d stolen many more kisses and been gifted twice as many in the time since then. Between the dry leaflets of these leather-bound books, they had exchanged daily correspondence. It was the kind of poetry he never dreamed he would ever write. She wrenched it from him with every passing moment. He did not begrudge her this trick. 

“Mike?” She called his informal name, too loud as usual. 

“Miss Baker,” he whispered back. He leaned out between the shelves, crooking a thick finger at her. 

She rolled her eyes, all delicate manner and grace left at the door she closed and locked behind her. 

“It’s ‘Miss’ again, is it?” She asked. Her skirt swirled around her ankles, fluttering to the ground as she eased out of her shoes, speeding her gait towards him. 

“Ginny,” he amended, grinning as her name tripped across his lips.

She drew her gloves off, casting them to the ground to join her shoes. “That’s better,” she complimented. “I thought you would ask me for a dance tonight,” she pouted. “Yet you disappeared. The Duke would give me no peace,” she continued. “He is like a leech that one.”

“He bleeds like one as well.” Mike’s mood sullied for a moment. 

Ginny’s quick eyes found his bruising hand. All mirth fled her face. 

“Mike,” she chastised, rushing for him. “What happened?”

“He disrespected you,” he answered. His whole body jolted at her touch, coming alive. 

“Saying what?” She prodded. She jerked his hand up towards the lamp, squinting at it. 

“Things he will not be saying again,” Mike hoped his tone might discourage any further questions. 

“He spoke of my virtue, no doubt.” Ginny was not fooled for a moment. “Or lack thereof.”

Anger flared again, warring with the gentleness of her affections. “As I said, he will not be uttering them again.”

“Why not?” Ginny looked genuinely curious. “Do you intend to put an end to our meetings?”

“I do not,” Mike blinked at her. 

“Then how can you claim my virtue is intact?” Ginny asked. “Lord knows you are the one who claimed it.”

Mike was left stammering. “Ginny, I—“

“Well then,” she reasoned, stepping forward. “If you intend to continue to... _ defile _ me,” her bare hands crept up, hooking over his shoulders. “Then you can expect many more men like the great Duke to whisper.”

“Great?” Mike tilted his head to regard her. 

“So I’m told,” Ginny shrugged, unconcerned. 

“People say a great many things,” he reasoned. “Few which are true.”

“Why then do the words of a drunken fool concern you?” Ginny pressed. 

The scent of her perfume was dizzying. Mike leaned towards her. She shivered as he brushed the barest of kisses upon her collarbone. 

“If he speaks of you, he will again become acquainted with my fist.”

Ginny laughed, not the practiced titter learned at the tutelage of her governess, but a loud, horsey bray. It was like music to her lover. 

“There is a way to stop all rumors,” he pressed his advantage. 

“Not all of them, surely,” Ginny laughed again. 

Mike wound his hands around her waist, tracing the beading of her gown. He tightened his grasp, rejoicing at her gasp. 

“Marry me,” he said, bringing his lips to her ear. 

“Are you asking?” Ginny’s hands clambered at his back. “Surely you should at least be on one knee.”

“Not two?” Mike queried. 

He did as she desired, dropping to the carpeted floor. Ginny’s hands followed him, tightening in his hair as he gathered her skirts in his grasp. He urged them up, pressing his face against the delicate fabric. The feel of her skin was softer still than silk and he eagerly sought to eliminate the barrier between him and her. 

Ginny gasped and shook, stumbling backwards. He lifted her, coming to his feet only to deposit her safely against the shelf on the back wall. Then to his knees he went again, pressing his face forward. She hooked a leg over his shoulder. Mike reached back, steadying her with a broad hand. His tongue, so skilled at curses and wit, now served a higher purpose, driving the woman he loved to insanity. 

Her fingers extracted pleasure and pain in equal turns, now tugging at his hair, then rubbing the sting away. He did the same, gripping her thighs and pressing deeper still. Her cries went on and on, increasing in timbre. Mike cared little for discretion. Let all of them hear. 

“Mike,” she moaned, the sweetest sound in all the world. “Mike, please--”

She shattered. He was there to catch her, steadying her as he rose to his feet. Ginny was quick as she always was to regain her barings. She braced herself again on his shoulders, giving little regard for her gown as she yanked the skirts higher still. 

“Marry me,” he repeated. 

“Ruin me,” she requested in answer. 

Nimble fingers fiddled with his trousers, urging them down enough for her to dip in a hand. He groaned into her shoulder, pressing her harder still against the shelf. The ancient thing rattled and groaned as they jolted against it, threatening to spill centuries of recorded history to the unforgiving floor. 

They came together smoothly, crying out into one another’s mouths. Ginny began to urge him on at once, demanding as always. 

“Harder, love,” she begged, clenching around him. 

He obliged, bracing her as he drove in and out, setting her trembling beneath her gown. Her bodice threatened to come apart, spilling her from the fabric and into his willing hands. Mike bent his head to suckle at her, uncaring if he left a mark. 

Books fell, but it only served to increase their fervor. Ginny’s nails dug into his shoulders, urging his coat off. He could feel the heat of her through his shirt. He wished to be skin on skin, with nothing between them. He wished to be in a bed they owned, truly alone. He wished a home with her, his days filled with her. He wished a family with her. 

“Marry me,” he grunted again, growing increasingly desperate. 

Her heels dug into the small of his back, urging him on. Tears gathered in her eyes, spilling free. He kissed them away. 

“I love you,” she whispered in his ear. 

He fell apart, clutching at her hips, listening as she panted and moaned, following him swiftly into pleasure. Her legs went slack, falling slowly until she was pressed between himself and the wall, craning on her tiptoes. 

Mike sank once again, coming down on one knee to look up at her. 

“Will you marry me, Ginny?” he asked, looking up at her. 

She smiled. “There will be a scandal.”

“There’s bound to be one anyway, as loudly as you scream,” he countered. 

“Oh?” Ginny’s smile grew wider still. “Who was it howling my name for all the world to hear?”

“I would do so every night,” he promised her. 

“Then we should start tonight.” Ginny raked her hands through his beard. “Abscond, elope.”

“Is that a yes?” he asked. 

Ginny gave him a pitying look. “As though I would say no,” she shook her head. She tugged, urging him to his feet. She kissed him again, gently this time. “Even though you didn’t bother to bring a ring.”

“I have a ring,” he promised against her lips. “It’s in the jacket you threw on the ground.”

She laughed again, and Mike along with her. They stayed that way for a moment, holding one another. From the main door of the library, Mike could hear whispered voices. 

“Come,” Ginny instructed. She detangled from him, taking his hand as she gathered their clothing. “Let’s make an honest man out of you.”

She slipped her shoes back on then handed him her gloves. Mike tucked them away in his pocket. He draped his jacket over her shoulders, walking with her to the back entrance. She pushed the small door open, letting in the cool night air. 

“The ring is in your pocket, if you wish to look at it,” Mike told her, taking her arm as they stole into the night. 

Ginny leaned her head against his shoulder, sighing contently. 

“I’ll have the rest of my life to look,” she smiled. 

Mike bent to kiss her. “That you will,” he confirmed. 

Together, they walked leisurely down the road and away from the party, on to their future together. 


End file.
